Childlike Chatter: la alma de las gitanas

I think I'm a gypsy.

No, really.

Never in my life has a description of a cultural group stirred my insides strangely with it's familiarity so that I just wanted to scream, "Yes--they get it. That's exactly it. That's exactly me."

Florencia: a gypsy woman on the steps of the Cathedral of Salamanca

Robbers, mystics, pests, sinners--words commonly associated with gypsies thanks to the Hunchback of Notre Dame or really any typical street scene in Europe. Here's what you may not realize about gypsies:

1. A gypsy is by definition someone who is not home. There is no Gypsyland. They're Romanian by origin, but when they live in Romania, they're called Romanians. And when a Romanian moves to a different country and dresses in a specific way and lives in community with other Romanians who also live and dress and speak and sing in that manner, he or she is called a gypsy. An anak na layas, if you will.

2. Loyalty is incredibly important in a gypsy community. Foreigners in a strange land must band together against oppression, and infidelity, in any shape or form, is unacceptable and not tolerated. Cervantes in his novella La Gitanilla writes of gypsy loyalty, "Nosotros guardamos inviolablemente la ley de la amistad..." Roughly, "We keep the inviolable law of friendship." If that's not demonstrating an appreciation for the treasure that is relationship, I don't know what is.

3. The greatest value of a gypsy moral system is virginity. For women and men alike.

4. They dance flamenco better than any native Spaniard. Why? Because the flamenco is a dance inspired by pain. I would say that being separated from your homeland for security reasons and having no place to really call your home is reason enough to know pain. And the weight of poverty and oppression wouldn't help, either.

5. Also, the way they sing is remarkable. Filled with expression, vocal skill, and passion. Always accompanied by a furrowed brow, pleading eyes, and an outstretched hand--desperately reaching for something to hold on to.

6. The gypsy will not compromise tradition for anything. They have the ability to resist and preserve through changing times, none of which have been easy. (More poorly-translated Cervantes: "For us, harsh weather is a breeze, snow, our refreshment, the rain, our baths, thunder, our music...") Their culture has barely changed since the middle ages. Gypsies had no regard for honra during the Spanish Middle Ages: that reputation seeking non-value that dictated the lives of hidalgos and lower nobles. They knew where they stood in society, and it did not matter. It is for this reason, perhaps, that they will always be known as beggars, because if one cannot assimilate into the social aspect of a community (which they consistently refuse to do) one simply cannot assimilate into it's economy. Their ability to support themselves is then reduced to clandestine affairs and contraband business. The gypsy would rather starve, depending on either the good nature or carelessness of others. He would rather be at the bottom of a Spanish social ladder in a posture of apparent humility than let go of some part of himself, a culture of which he is almost foolishly proud.

The thing is, I think I have a lot of gypsy in me. I like taking a train to Grindelwald, Switzerland and wandering uphill for an entire day, panting and seeing spots and not quite sure where I'm going, and waking up to things like this:

which I may have done last weekend; bonjour, Switzerland

I have the hardest time staying in one place for a long period of time. I've been compared to a shark, moving out of necessity to breathe and live, and that metaphor has repeatedly resounded as true throughout these past few months. But here's something else I may share with the gypsies: pride. Do I wander more to learn about the strange, or do I want the strange to learn more about me? I've been told, by different people at different times, that I am the same Denise in every situation. That I come off as confident and sure of myself. That it takes me a long time to let others affect me. And, although they may or may not have been meant as compliments, I've taken these comments to be times in which others have helped me to realize a fundamental flaw in myself. How principled can I be before I'm just close-minded? How confident can I be before I'm just stubborn? It is because pride that the gypsy meets the economic downfall. It is because of pride that I constantly fall down.

I have got to allow things like this: